Am I suppose to sing praise of the clouds?
Only words of wisdom from my old lips?
Love long soured in my old heart.
Forgotten motion of days long past.
Tell the young to enjoy
What I no longer truly remember.
Sit in silent ponder of days.
Listen to music which raises thoughts
From ashes of days long gone.
Yet still there is beauty in the clouds.
The sweetness of love lingers
Softly on the edges of my heart.
My warning to the young is gentle advice.
My silence brings meditation and quiet with God.
The music gently surrenders the beauty of the past
to my forgetful mind.
Some wisdom does fall occasionally from my lips.

The bright sky
kisses my eyes,
I'm stunned
and I can't blink.
Clouds hanging overhead.
And the wind
blows my hair
also brings
the music of nature
like the chirping of a bird
perched on a branch.
Cool and calm.
The green leaves
make me not want to leave here,
the place where I always miss,
life in a quiet village
which many people
do not choose to stay.

A darkness crept into my waking crypt,
Its tendrils coiled to grip my tortured throat,
Till retching, retching, gurgled on a rote,
Prostrate, held in its clutches, tightly gripped —
No eye perceived this devil as it slipped
From day to blackened day inside to gloat;
An instrument was I to sound its note,
A plaything used, discarded, broken, stripped —
The world became a window; The outdoors
Turned alien; The beast remained inside,
Content to keep the prison of my mind —
From time to time I dared unto the stores,
        But ever on returning I would find
        The nightmare waiting where we both reside.